Just Like Silk
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: After a mission, Heero contemplates the feel of Duo's hair against his body, entranced by the other young man [1x2, Fluff]


* * *

**_Just Like Silk_****_  
_**_By the Weaver Atropos  
((Time Span)) _6.17.04 (10:00--?); 10.17.04 (3:42— 6:42)  
_((Comments))_ Heero might seem a bit...delirious. Call it a lack of sleep. 

* * *

**Just Like Silk**

Heero's fingers twitched.

Duo turned curious amethyst eyes in the boy's direction. Tossing the mission gear carelessly to his right, and rolling his eyes in Heero's general direction, Duo let out an exasperated sigh. "What!"

Heero ignored Duo's half-hearted whine, choosing instead to make his way to the bathroom, also throwing his gear aside. Once there, he gave the small five by five room a once-over, frowning slightly at its state of disrepair. But he shrugged it off. He'd been in worse places.

The young man headed over towards the sink, wincing when the muscles in his back protested at his leaning forward. Brow wrinkled at the effort, he splashed his face with cold, cleansing water, apparently not caring that it would drive sleep from his persona. He was reaching for his toothbrush when he heard Duo stumble into the room, wide yawn encompassing his face and hair flying in all directions. His fingertips twitched again.

If there was anything that Heero, as the Perfect Soldier, disliked, it was disarray…and at the present moment, Duo's hair was a tangled, matted, mess. He knew that if Duo weren't so tired, and wasn't—quite literally—falling asleep on his feet, he would've whined and protested at the state of his hair.

It wasn't that Duo was egotistic—though, he did have _some_ measure of erroneous self-esteem—no, it was that he always liked to look presentable…always wanted to be at his best. It was just like Duo to be that way: to try and offer everyone all he could.

Still…it irked him.

And Heero had the vague notion that Duo knew it, and didn't particularly care. Which was true, to some degree, but Duo's absolute disregard of Heero was, as the youth had predicted, more in relation to his weariness than anything else. "Your hair's a mess."

Duo raised half-lidded, sleep-hungry amethyst eyes at Heero. He remained standing where he was for a few moments, swaying slightly on his feet, before gently reaching behind him and fingering the thick plait of his hair. He flinched.

Sighing and rolling his shoulders forward defeatedly, Duo plopped himself down on the toilet seat and undid the band that was holding together his hair. Nothing happened. Groaning and letting his head fall against his knees, Duo fought the desire to fall asleep right then and there, totally oblivious to the dirt and grime scattered everywhere.

"Duo…" Heero nudged the American's foot with his toe, not sure whether he was really asleep, and rolled his eyes when he realized he was.

Groaning, more to himself than to the other boy, Heero leisurely lifted him onto his shoulder, and made his way back to their room.

_Their_ room. Theoretically, at least. They would spend the night there, in the safe house he had spent hours isolating, and wake up the next morning at the crack of dawn…maybe earlier.

Heero eased the door to the room closed with his foot, mindful not to make a sound, and glanced quickly about himself. It didn't take him more than three seconds to realize he was going to have to sleep on the floor. Otherwise, he'd have to toss Duo down there, and, from what the young man had already seen, the American was hardly in any condition to be sleeping on the floor. Although…all things considered, Duo wouldn't have any problems falling asleep—he already was, after all.

Heero's more egoistic side argued that there was no valid reason _not_ to toss the braided pilot on the ground; survival hardly depended on who slept on a harder surface. Then again, his more jaded side fought back: a Perfect Soldier should have no needs and thus, no qualms about sleeping on the floor. He sighed.

Was it at all relevant? He still had a mission report to type up, so he wouldn't be getting to sleep until much later, anyway. By _that_ time, Duo would probably wake up, complaining about something or other, and they'd be able to trade off. However possessive he was about his mission reports, Heero wasn't stupid; he knew there was no way he could type up a completely coherent results statistic without some input from his partner. Not to mention that it was against mission orders. Dr. J had explicitly requested that Duo write up his own account of events, for fear that Heero took things entirely too meticulously and that, in doing so, missed the larger picture. And, while Heero doubted he _ever _did, mission orders were sacred.

Dislodging his case from beneath their bags of rations, weaponry, and random paraphernalia, he gave the room a quick scan, finally finding an outlet a few feet to his left. Wrapping numbing fingers about his laptop's plug, he half-crawled, half-walked towards the outlet, plugging in the wire with an almost absent sense of violence. He really was sleepy.

He wasn't sure exactly when the flashing lines of text on his computer began to blur, merging into one, and doubling into four or when his head hit the keyboard, sending a garbling message back to Dr.J—who, we can only imagine—questioned the sanity of his leading protégé.

What he _did_ remember, were the soft, calloused fingertips that wrapped about his biceps, teasing the skin a bit too roughly, the touch—in that absence of gentleness—very male in its essence. He was aware of a sharp, pungent scent that wafted to his nostrils, smelling strongly of rain and musk; lavender and strawberry. His head moved instinctively towards the warmth the other radiated, so that his nose nuzzled almost childishly against a wide, flatly defined chest, and his fingertips curled about silky, black fabric.

Some part of him knew he should've been awake, alert and quick at the knowledge that he was being touched—moved, even…but another, greater part of him, knew _who_ that person was…and knew there was no danger involved. He could be trusted…with his life, even. Perhaps he was being delirious, the stress of the mission certainly warranted for that, but he knew better than to make assumptions. Besides, as much as he might've tried to deny it, Heero had longed for that touch.

A short, deep chuckle reached his ears, and his eyes snapped open almost instantly. His pupils contracted almost painfully, taking in the bright, 100watt fluorescents, and then, the soft violet eyes, crinkled at the edges by laughter, that were studying him intently. He should've been disturbed at their closeness, Heero thought. He should've pushed the braided youth away, grumbling about something or other, but he didn't. And…maybe, Duo had been expecting him to, because then, his eyes narrowed curiously, and his gaze bore deeper into Heero's own, slowly awakening Prussian eyes.

Their noses were almost touching…and, rather than inspire a sense of anger in him, Heero felt his face burn the slightest bit, and outwardly, his cheeks were tinged a soft lavenderblush.

Duo was taken aback, and it was visible in the way his eyes had widened, smile falling slack on his face, small, pink tongue darting out to lick thoughtfully at his lips. Heero's eyes followed the action almost entrancedly, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in all the scientists had failed to teach him…wondering, for all the things in the world, how it would feel to have those bright, pink lips on his—how it would taste…and how easily he could find out, if only he leaned the _slightest_ bit forward…

His thoughts were interrupted by Duo's hand, which had been placed haphazardly at his forehead, the action so jerky and miscalculated that it had pushed Heero's head back a bit gruffly, so that it banged just slightly on the sheetrock of the unfinished wall. The Perfect Soldier closed his eyes for a moment…whether in pain or wonderment, only he knew.

Duo, meanwhile, considered his comrade oddly, taking in the slightly flushed cheeks, pouting, open mouth, and the closed eyes and wondering…Wondering what could be going on in his partner's head. He wasn't warm at all; his forehead was cool to the touch, not any different than usual…and yet—

"Heero?" The hand slowly slid away, the caress extending itself down his cheek and past his jaw. "You all right, buddy?"

Heero found himself nodding numbly, almost choking on his reply, surprised that such a simple touch had left him so at a loss. He wasn't used to it—being caressed. And thus, however slight an attention it might've been, it always discomforted him.

Duo's face was still only inches from his own, examining him closely, trying to discern what could be wrong with him, not realizing that his attempts only furthered the young man's imbalance.

"Your hair's still a mess."

They had been the only words to come to his mind, and with it, strong hands had darted out without his concern, grabbing onto fistfuls of smooth, silky tresses. He could see Duo wince at the touch, his hair very much tangled. "Yeah, well…My arms are beat. I don't feel like havin' a fight with it tonight…however worse it might be tomorrow."

Despite his words, however, Deathscythe's pilot did nothing to move away, seeming content to—despite his better judgement—allow Heero to remain as he was, seated against the wall, knees brought up to his chest like a lost child, hands tangled in his hair.

He himself was seated on his knees, reclined against his calves, feeling his right foot begin to fall asleep. He offered Heero a sheepish grin. "Since we're both awake, might as well do something, ne?"

With a nod, Heero let deadened fingers fall from Duo's hair. His eyes fell to the floor, where his laptop lay, forgotten, blinking text seeming alien to his brain. Duo followed his gaze, rolling his eyes when he realized what Heero'd been looking at, and gave him a sharp tug, so that his weightless and sleep-weakened body shot up from the floor, largely at Duo's strength, and was sent careening in his direction. The American accommodated Heero's weight easily, surprising the latter in his strength.

Heero had always thought Duo to be much too slight to carry him—or be all that strong, for that matter.

Now, however, cradled as he was, he could feel the tips of Duo's fingers against the small of his back, and his hands—positioned at the man's pectorals—instinctively curled about his shirt, accidentally pinching at his flesh. He looked up to gauge Duo's reaction, amazed to take in the almost torn quality that lingered in his lilac eyes.

He wondered if he should extricate himself from his partner's body, and if so, how he should go about it. Before he had a chance to act, however, Duo's hands slowly came off his body, and he took a few steps back so that a good foot or two remained between them. His smile was awkward. "Does my hair bother you that much?"

A shrug. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Hurt?"

Heero nodded, and approached the youth, hand extended, before letting his face soften as he ran his fingertips down the Duo's scalp. "Doesn't it?"

He saw Duo shrug tensely, almost moving away from his touch, before seeming to think better of it and letting the weight of his head fall into Heero's hand. "Only if I hit a snag."

"A snag?"

"Tangle…" Duo clarified, "Of it own, it doesn't hurt. Only if I pull on a tangle."

"Like this?"

Heero's words were followed by his pulling his forefinger against a large wad of matted hair he'd noticed near Duo's bangs. Duo let out a pained yelp. "What the hell!"

He pulled away and glared, gathering his braid to his body, frowning at himself and wondering if he should commit Heero to an asylum. "What the hell's wrong with you!"

"Nothing. I was just testing your theory."

"Well _duh!_ If I pulled _your_ hair, it would hurt, wouldn't it!"

Prussian eyes blinked blankly at amethyst ones. Duo resisted the urge to look away. Heero's gaze was intimidating, even when he didn't intend it to be. Then, feeling suddenly vengeful, the American reached forward abruptly, knowing Heero would be able to stop him if he wished, and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking it forward sharply. Heero's head fell forward slightly with the force of the pull, but his gaze never once wavered. He simply looked at Duo curiously…as if wondering why he'd done as he had, hints of hurt lingering in his eyes.

Instantly, Duo regretted his actions. Curled in on himself as he was, Heero looked, for all the world, like an abandoned child who'd suddenly been deprived of whatever crumbs of bread he'd had. "Heero?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Why would _you_ do that to me?"

The young man looked thoughtful. Then, his hand came to his own hair, rubbing mossy green hair between inquisitive fingertips, before cocking his head slightly to the left. And then, "You have a lot of hair…"

Duo was aghast. _What!_

Heero's mind followed an odd thought pattern.

And Duo was feeling rather unnerved on account of it.

Heero took two more steps forward and, hands tightening about Duo's shoulders, turned the boy completely, so that he was staring at the knotted mess that was his waist long hair. He reached out tentatively, having learned that a rough touch would send Duo away, and gently began running his fingertips through the boy's hair. It snagged a few times, and he growled a bit on account of it, feeling Duo tighten whenever he did so. "I need a comb."

The voice was plaintive. So much so, that Duo relaxed marginally in thought. "I have one—it's in my jacket pocket."

Heero nodded as he moved away, shifting to sit at the very edge of the bed, watching Duo intensely, receiving the comb when it was extended in his direction. Duo then sat down beside him, sitting Indian-style on the bed, so that his back was turned completely towards Heero, giving the boy free access to his hair. It was very long, so that a good foot of it remained curled on the bed, and Heero found himself attending to it with the gentlest of strokes.

He heard Duo sigh contentedly as he brushed his hair, occasionally shuddering, smooth shivers running up the plane of his spine, causing the flesh on the nape of his neck to goosebump, making Heero wonder whether the activity was arousing Duo it any way.

It was quite possible. He'd read about it somewhere. Dr.J had told him once it was an effective way of pumping women for information; playing with their hair, he'd said, created an intimate bond that inspired both carelessness and physicality. And, while Heero had never been the type to use his body for the sake of information, he knew it was a valuable piece of information.

Three strokes later, and another shiver had run through the amethyst-eyed boy's body, upon which, sensing Heero's hands stop their ministrations, he'd tensed. And then, it was Heero who had broken the silence, "Do…How do I braid it?"

Duo had arched his head then, managing to get a glimpse of Heero. He was squatted on his toes, weight shifted to his haunches, and looking strangely out of place, brush in one hand, a lock of chestnut hair in the other. He didn't look away when Duo's gaze lingered. If anything, it was he who maintained it.

The young American turned around then, wanting suddenly to kiss him. Kiss him and make him stop with that vulnerable air he'd been exuding all night. He wanted to shake Heero awake—make him realize that something was wrong with him…that he should be the Perfect, lifeless Soldier—not a susceptible boy who stared at him with those lost Prussian eyes…

He wanted to do _so_ many things…and felt torn on so many levels because of it.

And, strangely enough, in that span of time—mere seconds—it was Heero who had reacted…it was he who had reached for his face, crushing his lips against those of the other man's…and he hadn't been denied. If anything, Duo had responded to his kiss hungrily, biting and nipping at his lower lip, holding tight to him, lest he disappear.

And Heero had felt his fingertips come about the boy's hair and he was pushed back…and he'd felt Duo's soft skin against his own, another kiss at his lips…

And he was overwhelmed by sensations…sensations where everything felt just like silk…

Just like the silky expanse of Duo's hair, cascading about them in wild waves, each with a life of its own…witness to their necessity. They needed someone…if it was only a momentary false affection, they needed that acceptance.

Even if they both knew it _wasn't_ momentary…

Even if they knew they'd stumbled onto something much larger…

_Owari_

* * *

_Hope you like! Clicky the review button?_


End file.
